


Face-washing

by Katherine



Category: A Little Princess - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: Gen, Hair Brushing, Taxidermy, Tiger rug, washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine/pseuds/Katherine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a grand thing, when you are four, to be introduced to a doll who is a personage in her own right. Lottie would have stared at Emily, and admiringly touched her delicately-trimmed dress, for some time had not Sara reminded her it was past time to wash Lottie's face and brush her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Face-washing

**Author's Note:**

> “I will be your mamma,” she said. “We will play that you are my little girl. And Emily shall be your sister.”
> 
> Lottie’s dimples all began to show themselves.
> 
> “Shall she?” she said.
> 
> “Yes,” answered Sara, jumping to her feet. “Let us go and tell her. And then I will wash your face and brush your hair.”
> 
> To which Lottie agreed quite cheerfully, and trotted out of the room and up-stairs with her, without seeming even to remember that the whole of the last hour’s tragedy had been caused by the fact that she had refused to be washed and brushed for lunch
> 
> — _A Little Princess_ by Frances Hodgson Burnett

It is a grand thing, when you are four, to be introduced to a doll who is a personage in her own right. Lottie would have stared at Emily, and admiringly touched her delicately-trimmed dress, for some time had not Sara reminded her it was past time to wash Lottie's face and brush her hair. Lottie did not remember such domestic offices being done by her own mother. But she submitted to this one from her pretend-adoptive mama.

Her small face at least damp from clean water instead of tears, Lottie turned excitedly when Sara fetched Sara's very own brush. This new angle brought the tiger rug into view, and Lottie looked at it with wide, fixed eyes, as if torn between being frightened or being fascinated. Sara, noticing this in her motherly way and having no wish for another round of tears or wailing, suggested brightly that Lottie help her wash the tiger's face.

Lottie having proved overly enthusiastic at the basin, Sara wrung much of the water out of the cloth before sitting with Lottie in front of the tiger. Sara kept one hand on the cloth but let it be pulled along with Lottie's rubbing. Lottie giggled, a sweet sound very unlike from her more common shrieks, as she looked at her handiwork: the tiger's face fur gone into spikes from damp, the stripes to zig-zags.

"We can pretend he will dry himself if we don't watch him," Sara said, before revisiting the necessary topic of brushing Lottie's hair. This time Lottie did not protest. While drawing her brush through and through Lottie's curls, Sara reflected that it was now past luncheon time. Nonetheless, she knew (unspoiled but quietly aware of the status Miss Minchin afforded her) she could take Lottie down-stairs later, and someone would see to it they had as good a luncheon as if they had been ready on time. There was a satisfaction in being able to bring Lottie down washed and tidy instead of tear-streaked.


End file.
